


One More Chance

by SilentAcid



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Denial, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Really Character Death, Siegfried and Vane are Tired, Too Stubborn For Their Own Good, idiots to lovers, side GranVane, spoilers for Between Frost and Flame, very vague mention of SiegJosef
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23106478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentAcid/pseuds/SilentAcid
Summary: In what he believed was the final moments of his life, Lancelot confesses the feelings he had for Percival he never voiced before.He ends up surviving, and now both sides have to deal with the consequences.
Relationships: Lancelot & Vane (Granblue Fantasy), Lancelot/Percival (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 27





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my dearest partner, who helped the original plot to come to be and was the person who pushed me to actually write it.

It all happened so fast.

One moment they were still fighting, side by side, just like they used to before. The sound of blades clashing and the smell of sweat mixed with blood were almost comforting despite the ever-present threat of demise lingering in the air—there was not a thing that could go wrong. Not when they were together.

Even when they had to split they were bursting with confidence, each of them was more than enough to take on a dozen after all—and it wasn’t just them on top of that, they had the entire Order of White Dragons to back them up after all.

Soon enough the enemy forces moved to retreat, crushed by the overwhelming disadvantage, and a wave of relief came upon them—the battle was over, they managed to fend off the assault; what was still left of the enemy troops was hardly enough to attempt another attack.

One moment their thoughts were drifting off to the inevitable celebration of their victory as they subconsciously looked around for their comrades.

The next thing they knew, Lancelot collapsed on the ground suddenly, blood pooling underneath him slowly. 

Percival was the first to make it to him; he turned him around as gently as his hasty moves allowed for and pulled him up into his arms, securing him in a half-sitting position.

The man was pale, far more so than normally, his breath shortened and erratic, the lower parts of his armor already stained thoroughly with the blood seeping from his wounds. He was probably bleeding for quite a while.

Vane was there just a few seconds later, no less shaken than Percival when he saw the condition Lancelot was in; he kneeled down next to him as he fumbled with his breastplate frantically so as to remove it, so he could check on his injuries.

They kept calling out to him, too, anxiously talking over one another—and for once neither of them could care less.

"Lancelot...!"  
"Lanchan!!"  
"Open your eyes—"  
"Come back to us!"  
"—say something!"  
"Lanchan, please, talk to me!"

Eventually, he did open his eyes, just barely cracked them open, initially gazing absently at the space in front of him—before he finally looked up at them.

"Vane... Percival?" he murmured under his breath, his voice weak and barely audible; he groaned quietly when Vane removed his breastplate; the blond hissed in distress as he inspected his body.

"This doesn't look good..." he started—but Lancelot interrupted him, shaking his head and making a dismissive noise.

"Don't worry about this. I'm fine," he muttered—in response to which both men cried out in unison;

"No, you're not!"

Lancelot was taken aback for a brief moment, but he was stubborn; he shook his head and opened his mouth to protest again…

...only to end up coughing up blood instead. 

Vane and Percival exchanged quick panicked looks, before eventually the former leaned back; he tore off a part of his cape and covered the bleeding area with it, securing it in place with Percival's hand—the man didn't say a word, he just gently pressed at the spot, all the while watching Lancelot closely to make sure he was only causing as much discomfort as it was absolutely necessary.

The knight winced, making a pained noise—though he visibly still tried to appear unbothered by the entire ordeal, despite the fact even he himself was slowly coming to realize how much he was failing.

It hurt to watch him like that, so weak and struggling with every next breath.

Vane closed his eyes, furrowing his brow and biting at his lip as he squeezed Percival's hand, somewhat anxiously—only to let go a moment later, giving the other man a serious look.

"Don't let him drift off," he said. "I'll go find a medic, I'll be back soon."

"Who do you have me for? Of course I won't let him," Percival scoffed in response—Vane only laughed, before straightening up and turning around. 

He didn't really want to leave, not when Lancelot was in such a critical condition—but he knew he was leaving him in good hands. Percival wouldn't let him just up and die, after all.

Percival, meanwhile, only sighed as he watched him run off. As glad as he was about the perspective of getting the necessary help for his wounded friend, he wasn't all that glad about being left behind alone.

He was already starting to panic and he wasn't sure if he could handle it.

"Please, hurry," he murmured under his breath—even though it wasn't like Vane could hear him even if he'd speak aloud, he was way too far away for this already.

The one who heard that, on the other hand, was Lancelot; he made a displeased noise, trying to shift a little in his lap—which only ended with another groan from him. 

"I keep telling you I'm fine—"

Percival only sighed again.

"Lancelot. Can you even convince _yourself_ of that?"

The man looked off to the side, the grimace on his face deepened and he pressed his lips in a line.

"But you _will_ be fine," Percival added after a short pause. "You're not going down. Not yet. Not like this."

He wasn't sure anymore if he was trying to reassure Lancelot or convince himself everything would be alright—though admittedly, it felt more like the latter. He was so scared, seeing his friend in such condition was bringing back memories he definitely didn't want to relive—especially not in a moment when he had to keep his cool.

"Percival...?" 

Hearing the other's weak voice he turned back to look at him, forcing a smile.

He hoped it was at least a quarter as reassuring as he intended.

"I'm listening." 

Lancelot tried to return the smile, but it came off more as a grimace than anything else.

"Could I... lean on you...?"

Percival paused, blinking a few times in confusion; normally his heart would've skipped a beat, probably, but as it was now, he couldn't even pretend it was a display of affection. He was too painfully aware it was just Lancelot admitting he was _too weak_.

"Of course," he replied, moving to help him shift a little, so he could rest against him more comfortably.

It was hard, trying not to cause him any unnecessary pain and not to remove the pressure from his wound.

Soon enough, however, Lancelot was resting safely in his lap, leaning against him with his head rested upon his chest, Percival's arm wrapped around his shoulders firmly as he continued his attempts at stopping the bleeding.

He still kept a close look at the other man, making sure he was still breathing and conscious.  
He wasn't probably all that comfortable, Percival thought, with all the armor they were both wearing—but contrary to that, Lancelot didn't seem to mind, he seemed way more relaxed ever since he got to lean on Percival.

He had to remind himself not to enjoy the moment too much—which was, admittedly, pretty hard with how peaceful Lancelot looked when he laid on him like that; there was just no way he could stop his heart from racing—and the way Lancelot rested his hand over his heart didn't help at all.

Was he really focusing on his heartbeat in a moment like this...?

But, at the same time, it was so scary—it felt too familiar, too much like it was back then and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop his thoughts from wandering off there. He could barely stop himself from panicking.

"You know..." Lancelot spoke up again, his voice was still weak and so, so quiet—but it sounded way more calm now. "I'm really glad I can... be with you right now."

"Shut up," Percival replied—and instantly scolded himself internally for how harsh he came off, he really didn't mean to. Not now. 

"Don't talk," he started over, this time trying to make his voice sound softer. "If you need something to focus on to stay awake, I can talk to you. But don't waste your energy now."

Lancelot only laughed weakly.

"No, there's... something I want to tell you," he whispered, the slightest smile gracing his face—just a second later it turned strangely bitter. "I... should've told you sooner."

"I'm sure it can wait," Percival said stubbornly. As much as he was curious of what it was that Lancelot wanted to tell him so badly, he really didn't think it was a good moment.

He wondered what was taking Vane so long. He hoped he didn't get lost, it was the worst time for this kind of things.

Lancelot was quiet for a moment, only frowning as he bit his lip—and he tried to clutch at Percival's shirt, it seemed, but he barely managed to grasp faintly at the fabric.

Eventually, he started talking again. 

"I have... always adored you. I never told anyone but... it hurt so much when you left. Even with everyone around, I felt so lonely, I—"

"Don't talk," Percival repeated, gritting his teeth as he grasped on Lancelot's shoulder tighter. It was too terrifyingly similar, he didn't want to listen to this, he didn't want to even _think_ it could end the same way. 

Lancelot didn't listen.

"I missed you so much, sparring and rivalizing with you and you just _being_ there—and I was... so happy when you came back. Even if it was just for a moment..."

"Shut up!" Percival cried out; he couldn't control his voice anymore—nor could he bring himself to care how it sounded. He didn't want to hear a single word more of it, there would be another, better moment for this kind of talks.

There would be.

He swore there would be.

"We'll get back to this later, I promise. After we make sure you're gonna be alright. But now just... just... don't talk like this. It... sounds like you're planning to give up..."

His voice trembled as he continued, his tone slowly fading into a whisper. He really wasn't sure how much longer he could keep his cool, with images of the past flashing through his mind like this.

But he had to stay calm. For Lancelot.

He could feel a faint weight atop of the hand he still kept pressed to the other's wound—upon quick inspection he found Lancelot's hand resting on top of his; his other hand meanwhile moved up Percival's chest, passing his shoulder and resting upon his cheek.

Turning to look at him, his eyes met Lancelot's—half-lidded and hazy. 

He was smiling, but it wasn't a happy smile.

"I'm sorry, Percival," he whispered, voice trembling.

"No..."

"I... love you. So much. I... think I always did." 

"Lancelot..."

"I really... wish I'd told you sooner..."

"Don't say that...!"

"I hoped we'd get to spend more time together..."

"Stop it! You're not leaving... you're gonna be fine..."

"I never... wanted to leave you guys so soon..."

His hand slipped off Percival's cheek, he really couldn't keep it up like this much longer—he could barely even keep his eyes open and breathing was getting so hard too. 

Percival's voice was slowly becoming more and more distant, even though he was right next to him, he couldn't make out what he was saying anymore; his vision was blurring out gradually too, he couldn't really see anything anymore, despite still having his eyes open—would it matter if he'd close them now? There was no difference anyway…

Before everything faded out entirely, he could feel Percival's arm tighten around his shoulders and he heard panicked voices over himself—voices? oh, Vane probably made it back, he figured. He wasn't sure what they were saying, it felt like his name…

And then everything turned black.


	2. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot regains consciousness and the overthinking and denial begins.

The next few days were a blur.

Fortunately enough they managed to save Lancelot before it came to the worst—but his condition was still far from stable and he remained unconscious. 

There was no telling when he would wake up.

Vane refused to leave his bedside even for a second initially; he wanted to be sure at all times he was still breathing and he desperately hoped he'd open his eyes soon—it ended up making him neglect his own needs, even the most basic ones like eating and sleeping.

It lasted for two whole days, until Siegfried arrived and told him off, ultimately convincing him to take a break and get some rest.

After that they both kept watch over the man, switching with one another every few hours. 

Percival, on the other hand, didn't stop by even once.

During the hours he wasn't spending by Lancelot's side, Vane noticed something was very obviously _wrong_ with Percival—he seemed so utterly absent and he was so restless too, aimlessly wandering around the castle and surrounding areas.

He didn't dare to ask him about it though—it felt pointless anyway, the man refused to talk even to Gran and Lyria.

Which maybe was the most concerning part.

Meanwhile Percival simply didn't know what to think.

He wasn't sure anymore what exactly happened at the scene—he couldn't tell reality apart from his own delusions. Lancelot's words didn't stop echoing through his mind ever since that day—except he didn't know if he _really_ said that or if his panicking mind just twisted it, turning it into what he wanted to hear.

Part of him wanted it to be real; the thought of his feelings being returned was thrilling, especially now that they could safely say Lancelot would eventually recover, so maybe they could get a chance—but accompanying the feelings of joy there was immense guilt and hurt. 

Because it was his fault they didn't get a chance earlier.

And so, unsure of everything, he ended up avoiding even seeing Lancelot in those days—though a few times when he was pacing through the castle thoughtlessly to keep himself busy, he did wind up right at the door of his room.

But he never went inside. 

It was five days since the battle when Lancelot opened his eyes finally.

Siegfried was by his side at the time, so it didn't get too hectic; the man let him come to at his own pace, all the while watching him closely—but he only reacted when Lancelot spoke up.

"W...where am I...?"

"Your very own room," Siegfried replied calmly, it was a wonder he couldn't recognize his own mess, really—he supposed it was because of how long he was out of it, though.

At the sound of his voice Lancelot perked up somewhat, shifting in an attempt to sit up—he ended up only wincing and groaning quietly as he fell back to the pillows; Siegfried only gave him a warm, yet surprisingly stern smile. 

"Don't move yet. You were hit pretty badly so you should take it easy for a while. We were all worried about you."

"I said I'm fine," Lancelot huffed, looking off to the side. He was almost pouting.

Siegfried only let out a tired sigh—though he supposed him being his usual self like this was a good sign.

"I'm glad to hear you're feeling alright, but... let yourself rest for at least a few days, please."

Turning back to face him, Lancelot looked like he's just been scolded—so he supposed his point got across like it was intended.

"I will, I promise," he said finally—and Siegfried allowed himself to smile again.

They sat in silence for a moment; soon enough Lancelot turned his head away again, staring at the ceiling absently as he frowned—admittedly, he was still a little out of it, he only just woke up after being knocked out for who knows how long and he couldn't even properly recall the moments after the battle.

Siegfried spoke first though, before he could voice any of his concerns.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go look for Vane and Percival to let them know you're awake. Vane especially wanted to know right away."

Lancelot finally smiled, even if ever so slightly.

"Please, go ahead. I'm sure he was worried sick," he replied—his voice, too, sounded a little more happy now.

It was probably for the best to let him talk to the people he was the closest to now, Siegfried figured—especially considering they were the only ones there with him when he blacked out.

And so he excused himself to find the other two.

Vane wasn't hard to find.

As per usual when he needed to get something off his mind, he holed himself up in the kitchen—needless to say, in the past days, his fellow brothers in arms and Siegfried were fairly spoiled in terms of meals.

Naturally, he was rather surprised seeing his former leader come by so soon.

"Something happened? It's not my turn yet is it?" he asked from above a pile of bowls and pots, holding something that looked like it was supposed to become a strawberry cheesecake in the nearest future.

Siegfried only chuckled and shook his head.

"No, all is well, it's just—" He paused, taking a quick look at the other man. "Actually, maybe put that in the oven first."

Vane looked at him puzzled for half a second, but still followed the suggestion without a word.

"So, what's the matter?" he asked, turning around and grabbing a towel to dry his hands.

"Lancelot is awake."

After providing the answer, Siegfried watched in amusement as Vane proceeded to drop the towel he was holding; funny how his tentative prediction could be so right.

"He's... really?!" the blond said as he walked closer, eyes already shining with happiness even though there was still disbelief on his face.

"Yes, he just woke up a moment ago," the older man confirmed, smiling softly. "I feel it would do both of you good to talk."

Vane nodded enthusiastically, instantly brightening up; he didn't wait a second longer before sprinting to the door—only to head right back a moment later, grabbing a few muffins he made earlier before walking back to the door.

By the time Vane made it to his room, Lancelot managed to pull himself up to a sitting position—it proved to be much more of a challenge than he'd like to admit, with all of his injuries and feeling overally so _weak_ after being knocked out for so long.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, he couldn't deny the recovery would take more than a day or two.

If he still had any doubts, they were all gone the very moment Vane pounced on him and trapped him in a hug that he'd swore the man put all his might into.

Happy as he was to see him, he still had to push him away—or well, attempt to.

"V-Vane...! P-please, let go—you're crushing me—I can't breathe...!"

"Ah—I'm so sorry!!" 

Upon hearing the protest the younger man almost jumped back, offering an apologetic smile.

"I was just so excited to see you awake I didn't really think what I'm doing..." he muttered, his stare lowering as his face gloomied—a second later, though, he was smiling again as he looked up at his friends once more. 

"Oh right! I figured you're probably hungry so I brought you those," he said, handing him one of the muffins—he almost laughed seeing Lancelot's eyes sparkle in response.

"You're a saint, Vane," he mumbled, already taking a bite.

This time Vane laughed.

A moment later, though, his face turned serious again, looking all over his friend closely before he looked up at him again, with a worried expression.

"How are you feeling?"

Lancelot paused, using the moment when he was chewing to hesitate; he didn't want to admit it—but it was Vane. He had nothing to fear or be ashamed of with him.

"It... still hurts. I'll be fine, I'm sure, but... it will take a while."

Vane nodded solemnly.

"I figured..." he sighed softly; he seemed somewhat relieved though. "You scared us all big time."

"I'm sorry," Lancelot mumbled awkwardly, lowering his stare for a second.

Vane only smiled and shook his head lightly, as if to show him that it was fine, before he continued.

"I think Percy was the most worried. He really wasn't himself in these past few days, he was so out of it... it was kinda scary."

Lancelot frowned.

"Why would Percival be—"

And then, as if they just waited for a right moment, the memories of what happened before he lost consciousness flashed through his mind.

Collapsing. Percival holding him, his and Vane's scared voices. Vane leaving. Percival's heartbeat. Feeling so weak, the fear and awareness of death slowly creeping in on him. Goodbyes. Confession.

Confession.

 _Oh_.

"I think he cares about you more than he lets it on, you know? He was panicking so much when you blacked out, I think he might've been crying too... I never saw him like this before..."

Vane continued but Lancelot didn't really listen to him—he was panicking over the fact that in his half-delirious state he apparently confessed to Percival. Not to say it wasn't true because _it was_ , and obviously he'd rather die with Percival knowing than without ever telling him.

The problem was, he didn't die.

He didn't die and Percival knew now and he figured he would be lucky if he'd ever want to talk to him again, he didn't even want to imagine how awkward he must've made their relation now.

He really hoped that by some miracle Percival didn't actually hear what he said.

"Oh right!" Vane said, perking up suddenly. "I should go look for him and tell him you're awake! I'm sure he'd want to know right away too!"

"Wait—" Lancelot wanted to protest but in shock he ended up choking on air; while he tried to regain control over his breathing the other man stood up and headed to the door already.

"Just wait a moment, I'll come back with him soon!"

He was gone before Lancelot could even blink—he only groaned, letting his back rest against the headboard and lightly hitting his head on the wall in frustration; he glanced towards the window, measuring the distance and wondering what were the chances he'd manage to make it there and escape more-or-less safely before Vane came back.

Or maybe the earth would just swallow him whole if he'd wish for it hard enough.

Soon Vane found out that finding Percival was no easy task—he was weirdly good at disappearing when he was needed the most.

And the fact that he most likely got a little lost in the meanwhile definitely wasn't helping.

Eventually he ended up just checking every door he passed by as he walked through the corridors, as he figured there was at least some chance it would help him either find his way back or Percival.

Ideally, it would be both.

After checking many rooms he managed to deduce where he was, more or less—it was a mostly unused area, with mostly office rooms, which explained why it was so deserted.  
But he knew how to get to the kitchen from there, so he had his way back figured now.

He still kept checking every door on his way back, though, because while he didn't expect to find Percival in either of those, he also wouldn't be surprised if he really was in one of them.

_And he was._

He was sitting right there, visibly deep in thought and just as absent as he was all those past days; he seemed to be looking out of a window but Vane knew this kind of stares, he wasn't looking at anything.

He was frowning and biting his lip and he was quite obviously much more tense than normally—Vane almost felt bad interrupting him.

Almost.

"There you are," he said walking deeper into the room; Percival seemed almost startled at the sound of his voice, he turned around abruptly.

"Who—what the hell are _you_ doing here?"

Vane laughed.

"I was looking for you. Lanchan woke up, I figured you'd want to know." 

A long pause. Vane still looked at him directly, but Percival's stare dropped to the floor. His frown deepened.

"That's great," he said only, before turning back to the window.

Vane was, needless to say, confused to no end; he thought the man at the very least would be relieved to hear their friend was conscious again, maybe that he'd want to see him—but there was no change at all.

He still seemed just as absent-minded as before and it almost felt like he didn't care at all.

Which, obviously, Vane wouldn't believe even for a second; he saw how Percival reacted when Lancelot collapsed, it showed perfectly just _how much_ he really cared.

But then— _why_?

He was confused at first, but eventually a thought appeared—maybe he was just too shocked to process the information fully? It would explain the lack of any real reaction…

If that was the case, maybe he needed a slight push?

"Come on Percy," Vane said, walking closer to him. "You should go see him, I'm sure you both would feel better then."

Before Percival could protest or even answer at all, he caught his wrist and pulled him out of the room.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?!" Percival hissed while he was dragged through a corridor; he tried to wrestle his arm out of Vane's grasp, but all in vain.

"I'm taking you to Lanchan!" the blond replied, matter-of-factly, grinning widely as he looked at the other man above his shoulder.

"You two really need to talk, he seemed worried too when I mentioned you!"

Percival fumed, brow furrowing and eyes narrowing; he pulled Vane back, trying to stop him in his tracks—still to no avail, the blond stubbornly walked forward.

In the right direction on top of that, why couldn't he get lost when it would be actually convenient?

"There's nothing for us to talk about!" Percival snapped.

It wasn't even true. There was _too much_ that he needed to talk with Lancelot about, but there was just no way he'd admit it in front of Vane. He barely could admit it to _himself_.

But as much as he knew he _should_ talk to him about it, he didn't want to. He was still unsure of what he really heard and was scared of finding out.

Regardless of what the answer would be.

It was either accepting he's been delusional to the point of making this up and possibly embarrassing himself by even mentioning it to Lancelot, or having to live with the thought that he most definitely broke his heart when he left years ago—neither option more favourable and he dreaded both at the single thought.

He really didn't want to talk about this.

"Okay, okay, you don't have to talk if you don't want to! But you still can go see him, right?"

Percival almost growled in response. Why did he have to be so stubborn?

_And why did his hold have to be so firm?_

"But there's no reason for me to go _right now_!" he hissed, once again trying to pull his arm back.

Vane didn't answer, and neither did his grip loosen.

"Stop dragging me you scoundrel—are you even listening to me?!"

There was no end to his shouting, even though it still didn't have the slightest effect on Vane; the man just continued to drag him through the corridors as if he didn't try to resist at all. 

Soon enough Lancelot could hear the screams outside of his room—and soon they could hear a loud thump from the inside. Vane rushed to the room instantly; Percival had no other choice than to follow, since he still was holding onto his wrist.

Upon opening the door they found Lancelot on the floor, fallen flat on his face; it was hard to tell whether he just fell from his bed or if he actually got up and tripped while walking.

For a moment they just stared at him, both confused and shocked, one worried and the other vaguely frustrated.

"Lanchan!"

Before long Vane hurried over to his best friend's side, checking if he didn't hurt himself even more as he pulled him up gently—for a moment he forgot about Percival, leaving him alone at the door.

The man instantly took the given chance and turned around to make his tactical retreat.

He would come back, he thought to himself, once he'd think it through and figure out how he wanted to approach the subject. He just wasn't ready for this talk, it was perfectly justified he'd avoid it—

He didn't manage to run far; just as he passed the first corner he saw Siegfried, leaning against a wall with a knowing look upon his face.

"Running from Lancelot's room again?" he asked when Percival tried to walk past him.

Unsurprisingly, it made him stop immediately.

"How long have you known?" he replied, giving the other man a suspicious look—forgetting entirely that he could have just brushed it off and pretended that wasn't the case, Siegfried couldn't prove him a thing after all.

"Long enough to make me worry," the older man replied, his gaze still firmly fixed on the redhead.

Percival looked away.

"He needs his space to recover." 

Siegfried crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow slowly.

"That's odd. One would think you needed to talk to him more urgently, judging from how you stayed here for so long, for no apparent reason."

Percival turned his head further away, brow furrowing as he gritted his teeth; he could feel his face burning with embarrassment and he grumbled, unable to find a good response.

"You should go see him," Siegfried continued, moving away from the wall and taking a step toward the other man; he patted his shoulder, gently turning him back in the direction he came from.

Percival hesitated.

He really wasn't sure if it was a good idea, he was still scared to find out the truth of what happened back there on the battlefield—but it was a fact that he wanted to see Lancelot, badly. Even just for a moment, just to make sure he was doing alright, maybe so he could scold him for being reckless _again_.

In the end the urge to check up on the other man won and soon he found himself heading back to his room.

Siegfried followed, half a step behind him, as if he still didn't trust he would actually listen to the suggestion.

Percival couldn't really blame him.

Just as he was about to enter the room, he was met with Vane, who in turn was about to leave—to try and look for him again probably, Percival assumed; it seemed like they really weren't planning on letting him get out of this today either way.

The blond only managed to grin upon seeing him, but before he could say anything, Percival glared at him and walked past him without a word.

Lancelot was back in his bed already; now that he could take a proper look at him, Percival noticed he was still somewhat pale and he looked so weak—but unlike the last time he saw him, he seemed just tired rather than anything else.

The moment their eyes met, they both looked off to the sides awkwardly.

Behind Percival, Siegfried tapped Vane's shoulder lightly; when the younger man looked at him he glanced pointedly at the door; Vane only nodded in response and both of them left without a word.

Only when Siegfried closed the door behind them did they sigh in unison before exchanging resigned looks.

"I really hope they will talk it out finally," Vane murmured, rubbing the side of his neck awkwardly. He was talking more to himself than actually to Siegfried, but the other man gave a noise of agreement in response regardless.

"Me too. It's about time they did," he said after a short pause, another sigh escaping his lips. He shook his head, before turning around and walking away.

"Come on, let's go decorate that cheesecake of yours."

Vane almost jumped at the words, quickly catching up with him.

"You did take it out, right?"

"Of course."

Lancelot and Percival still didn't look at each other and neither of them spoke a word. 

The silence was awkward, moreso than usual and as much as they both wanted to break it—neither could find the right words to start with.

Eventually, Percival was the first to speak up.

"You're an idiot."

His voice just barely above a whisper and he still didn't look at Lancelot.

At least not until he heard him laugh.

It was so unexpected and confusing that he just _stared_ at him for a moment, unsure of how should he react to such a response—it wasn't until the laughter turned into a coughing fit and Lancelot's face twisted with a grimace of pain that he found himself coming closer involuntarily and reaching out, as if to comfort him.

Lancelot held a hand out, keeping him at a distance while he took several deep breaths.

"'m fine," he murmured finally and lowered his arm.

Percival only sighed.

"And what was so funny about it?" he asked, frustration apparent in his voice, and he sat down at the edge of his bed—he was so careful, as if to not hurt him accidentally, it felt almost awkward.

Normally, Lancelot's stomach would've been swarmed by butterflies at such display of gentleness, but this time a stray thought appeared that he could be taking pity on him, and his stomach only twisted unpleasantly instead.

"Um, well," he spoke up finally after an awkward pause. "It's just that... I can't really argue. That was pretty dumb of me."

"Glad you agree," Percival huffed.

He wanted to say something more. That he was worried, scared he could really lose him this time—but he couldn't find a way to put it in words without making his feelings obvious.

So he said nothing.

Lancelot remained quiet for a moment too, just watching the other man anxiously, as if trying to read what he felt from his expression alone.

All in vain.

"Vane said... you were really worried," he muttered finally.

There was a short pause; Percival inhaled deeply before he replied.

"Last I saw you you sounded like you were planning to bleed out in my arms. Scares a man a little."

An awkward silence fell between them again; Lancelot continued to watch Percival closely, fingers tightening as he clutched onto the covers nervously—and Percival didn't even look at him.

He didn't bring up the confession and that worried Lancelot. It was obvious he did hear it—there was no way he didn't if he heard the rest of what he said—and he was visibly far more bothered than ever before when he got injured. It was easy to guess it was because of that part, but he couldn't understand why he seemed to pretend it never happened.

Unless... he never thought of him in that way. 

If that was the case, he could understand why he wouldn't want to bring it up. It probably annoyed him quite a bit.

"I'm... sorry for that," he murmured finally, dropping his gaze to the sheets. "It all just... slipped out on its own. But I didn't really mean any of this, so don't worry."

Percival turned to look at the other man, notably shocked.

He knew Lancelot wasn't the type to say something as big as a love confession if he didn't really mean it, so there was no way he'd just take it back so lightly—and he didn't think he'd deliberately omit a confession as big as that, would he really make one.

He really must've made that up, huh.

"Okay," he heard himself say after a longer pause. It wasn't maybe the kind of answer he wanted to give now—but he couldn't even think of a better one.

Finally, Lancelot looked up too and at last their eyes met again.

For a moment they just looked at each other in silence, the tension lingering in the air and their feelings reflected in their eyes—and so terribly misread.

Lancelot's fear and hesitation was misread as remorse.

Percival's anxiety and confusion was mistaken for irritation.

They both proceeded to avoid each other after this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this was supposed to be a short fic.  
> Expect the next chapter sometime next week.


	3. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vane and Siegfried take some more or less extreme measures to make Lancelot and Percival talk.

It's been only two days and Lancelot was already back on his feet—even though he shouldn't be.

He visibly tried really hard to not push it too much, though—he wasn't really moving from his room and he spent most of the time sitting at his desk, doing the loads of paperwork that piled up while he was unconscious.

He didn't even try to protest when Vane insisted he'd carry the documents for him so he wouldn't accidentally strain himself too much—and maybe that was why the younger knight worried so much.

It couldn't be more obvious he was trying to distract himself from something and Vane had quite a good idea what it could've been.

He seemed distressed ever since he talked to Percival, and the latter didn't seem to be doing any better than he was before Lancelot woke up, making it perfectly clear something happened—and it wasn't a positive kind of something.

Initially Vane didn't want to interfere, hoping they'd resolve it between themselves eventually, but days passed and nothing changed; they continued to avoid each other, Percival remained just as agitated and Lancelot only kept getting more tense.

He tried to push him gently in case he'd want to talk about it, just ambiguously asking if he was sure he was feeling fine and reminding him that he's always there would he need anything—but Lancelot kept brushing it off, only giving him vague answers and either changing the subject or simply continuing with the paperwork, seemingly unbothered.

It wasn't until Lancelot insisted on continuing to work third day in a row that he decided to confront him directly.

"You know, Lanchan," he spoke up, placing yet another pile of documents down on the other's desk; the older knight turned to look at him, to show he's listening.

Vane paused for a brief moment and then sighed softly before continuing.

"You've been acting weird lately," he said, giving his friend a worried look.

Lancelot only laughed and shook his head.

"Not at all," he replied, smiling at him slightly. "You worry too much."

Any other person would've bought that probably—but Vane knew him better.

For a second he hesitated, unsure of how should he handle this, but he quickly decided there was no point in being subtle about it when the situation looked so hopeless.

"It's about Percy, isn't it?"

The way Lancelot looked off to the side, frowning and biting his lip, was already enough of a confirmation.

"Did something happen?" Vane asked, scooting closer and leaning against the desk—the older knight only turned his head further away, lips pressed in a line.

"You didn't fight, did you..?"

Lancelot only shook his head.

"No, we didn't, we..." He paused, frown deepening and he visibly hesitated before continuing. 

"We're fine."

Vane frowned as well, just barely managing to hold back a sigh. Even if he didn't know Lancelot like the back of his hand, it couldn't be more obvious he wasn't telling the truth—but as much as he wanted to help him, whatever the problem was, he was also scared of pushing too much. He didn't want to make the situation worse.

Lancelot's feelings for Percival were never an easy subject anyway.

After a long pause he rubbed the back of his head and finally allowed himself for a sigh; turning to look at his best friend directly he only gave him a resigned smile as he reached to pat his shoulder.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me now," he said and promptly straightened up, heading to the door afterwards so he could leave the groaning Lancelot to himself for now.

He really didn't want to just leave it like that, but he also knew that there was no point in trying to force him to talk when he so obviously didn't want to—he'd have to persuade him in a more subtle way if he wanted to find out what was the matter, he figured. 

And for that, he needed to prepare first.

Percival meanwhile, was still haunting the castle like a ghost, wandering around restlessly as if he couldn't find a place for himself—and scaring some members of the Order in the process, particularly some younger ones that didn't know him from back when he was the Vice-Captain of the Order of the Black Dragons together with Lancelot.

Maybe it was the scared soldiers or maybe it was the concerned whispers he caught here or there that made Siegfried worried, he wasn't entirely sure. What he knew, however, was that it would be best if someone checked up on Percival—and he knew also that the man won't listen and much less open up to just anyone.

Well aware it likely related to Lancelot and that Lancelot himself was without a doubt affected just as much by whatever happened between the two, he decided to take the matters in his own hands.

Ironically enough, the day he decided to talk to him, the man was nowhere to be found.

No one has seen him since previous night, so the first guess was he simply didn’t leave his room that day—but no response came when he knocked at the door, not even telling to leave him alone, and the door was locked on top of that; it would seem he wasn’t there after all.

He went to try and find out if Percival even came back to his room the night before, it wouldn’t be all that unlikely for him to wander off somewhere while distressed, after all—and when he was trying to gather more information on the former knight’s whereabouts, he noticed the window in his room was open and soon after he saw the man pacing through the room.

So he deliberately chose to ignore Siegfried, it would seem, even after he stated clearly it was him—which made things so much more alarming, after all it didn’t exactly happen often that Percival would disregard his former Captain like this.

As obvious as it was that the former knight needed support, it was also clear as a day he would probably reject it still—but that didn't mean Siegfried was planning to give up just like that, no, he did decide to do whatever it takes to help his distressed friend, after all.

And if climbing up to his room through the window was what it took, then so be it.

Percival meanwhile has been trying to put himself back together since the very morning; he did catch on how other people were reacting too—it was hard not to, admittedly, especially with how scared some of them looked—and it was exactly what made him realize he let this go way too far.

He couldn’t believe he let his emotions overcome him like this—while it might’ve been understandable initially, given what he experienced, he still shouldn’t have allowed this to go on for days, to the point it became clear as a day that something was wrong.

Though worst of all was that he let himself get so worked up over something that didn’t even happen.

It was one thing to panic over the situation, it was sudden and it evoked traumatic memories, it was only natural he would lose his cool—and shaken as he was at the time, he couldn’t blame himself for mixing up the past with the present; he figured out already he likely recalled his mother’s final words and mistook it for something Lancelot said.

But to let a mere delusion keep him agitated for so long, even after he realized it was indeed just a trick played on him by his own mind—that was unthinkable. It was unthinkable and yet he allowed it to happen, even avoiding Lancelot ever since the talk they had after he woke up.

He didn’t even want to imagine what the man must’ve been thinking now.

He knew he should get out of this daze finally and try to get back to normal—though it was easier said than done, it’s been over a week already since he started avoiding everyone, including even Gran and Lyria, there was just no way he could brush it off and act like nothing happened, not without giving them an explanation.

And he should explain himself to Lancelot too…

He couldn’t help but scold himself for all this running in circles and he almost laughed at _how much_ his own voice sounding in his head reminded him of Siegfried.

It was only when he turned around to resume his pacing around the room that he realized that there was indeed a Siegfried inside, standing right there and leaning against the wall right beside the window, clearly watching him.

For a second he was ready to drop all of his reasoning until now and accept the fact that he was really losing his mind after all, but he quickly noticed that the window was still open—

“Did you—?” 

Before he could even finish his question Siegfried nodded solemnly, confirming his suspicions and Percival could only sigh and shake his head; he was aware there was very little that could stop the man but he really didn’t expect he’d go _this_ far.

But it only proved further how worrying his behaviour was to others, he supposed.

“So… what brought you all the way up here?” the former knight asked with another sigh, crossing his arms over his chest—and Siegfried looked at him like the answer should be obvious.

(It was, admittedly, but Percival didn’t want to think about it.)

“Everyone is worried, Percival,” the older man replied finally after a longer pause, realizing that the other did, in fact, expect an answer from him. “You haven’t been yourself since Lancelot was injured and it only got worse after you talked. He’s been acting odd ever since as well, so I can’t help but think something did happen between you two after all… or am I wrong?”

“Is he now…” the redhead murmured, almost pensively, as he turned his head away, brows drawn together in a frown; he seemed to be thinking aloud rather than talking to the former Captain. 

Was he worried? Or did he feel guilty? Siegfried couldn’t tell.

Percival remained quiet for a while longer, it couldn’t be more obvious that he was still hesitating; he kept biting his lip and his frown seemed to only deepen with each second.

“I… guess you could say something happened,” he said finally—he sounded almost dismissive, as if even despite admitting there was in fact a problem he still tried to brush it off like it was nothing.

It wasn’t quite enough to make Siegfried back out, though.

“Care to elaborate?” he asked, tilting his head to the side and raising an eyebrow curiously. “I won’t force you, obviously, but I think it would help if you’d get it off your chest. I don’t know what exactly happened but I’m sure shutting yourself off like this is not making anything better.”

Surprisingly enough, Percival didn’t bite back right away to assure him it wasn’t big of a deal and he could handle it alone—which only proved further that whatever it was that happened, it affected him really deeply, Siegfried supposed.

The younger man was quiet for surprisingly long this time and Siegfried could only imagine the internal struggle he was going through—he was never one to talk about his feelings or problems after all, it was easy to guess how hard it would be for him to decide whether he wanted to open up or not.

But at the same time it was visible he did want to, he wouldn’t have hesitated otherwise—he’d probably just insist there was nothing to worry about and ask him to leave. And it only showed, too, how much he really needed it.

He wasn’t sure, admittedly, if he ever saw Percival being so _nervous_ before; he was visibly fidgeting, repeatedly running his fingers through his hair and he seemed like he was seconds away from starting to pace around the room again—though when he moved from his spot finally, it was only so he could sit down on the edge of his bed.

For half a beat Siegfried considered giving him another nudge, but it quickly turned out unnecessary, as Percival spoke up on his own.

“Something… similar happened before.” There was a short pause and he frowned, as if he couldn’t quite find the right words. ”It all just… came back at once when I watched him bleeding out like this and I—I think I simply… panicked.”

It wasn't much, but it was a start—and it already explained quite a lot, too, though Siegfried had a feeling there was still more to it. It affected also Lancelot, after all…

He wasn't sure if he should encourage the other a little or if he simply needed a moment to put his thoughts in words—only when Percival still wasn't saying anything after a long while he decided to give it a try.

“I assume it must've been a really impactful memory, to have bothered you this much,” he said, giving the other a soft, sympathetic look, even though Percival still wasn’t looking at him.

There was another pause and for the while the redhead only fumbled around with his fingers, clearly having grown even more nervous—when he spoke up again, his voice sounded like it was about to break, and understandably so.

“It… it was my mother.”

Siegfried could feel his heart sink in his chest as he heard the words and quickly he came to regret trying to push explanations out of him—it was far more personal than he expected it to be and frankly, he wasn’t so sure if he was the right person to have this sort of talk with him anymore.

That said, obviously he wasn’t going back now—it couldn’t be more clear that Percival really needed support and the least he could do was try to comfort him.

He walked over to sit down next to the other man; for a brief moment he considered just giving him a hug—he quickly decided against it though, they weren't _that_ close and he didn't think Percival would be fine with it, even in his current state.

He resorted to resting a hand on his shoulder and patting it—likely quite awkwardly, he was never good at this sort of things.

“I’m fine,” Percival assured almost instantly, shaking his head. It couldn’t be more obvious it was a lie but Siegfried expected as much.

“It’s… a terrible memory but I can handle this,” the redhead continued; he really tried to hide it but his voice was still shaking—and his hands were too, though it was less visible with how he kept fidgeting still. “And he… he’s fine in the end, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Siegfried only smiled sympathetically, squeezing his shoulder gently.

“I wonder though…” he mused aloud. “You have seen comrades die before… so why Lancelot?”

Percival turned his head away instantly, Siegfried would swear he made a vaguely distressed noise too.

“Lancelot is… he’s… different, he’s…” the younger man muttered, either struggling to find the right words—or maybe just to say it out loud?

“A friend?” the brunet suggested quietly.

Percival turned away further; there was a long pause before he finally answered, his voice a barely audible whisper,

“...He’s more than that.”

It wasn’t anything that Siegfried didn’t know already, but it was still heartwarming to hear; his face softened and he squeezed the other’s shoulder once more—his smile turned a little sadder though, as having confirmed that he could understand fully just how much pain it must’ve caused to Percival to see Lancelot on the verge of death, he knew all too well how hard it could be to watch as life slips away from the one you loved.

He decided to not push it any further.

“Did you tell him?” he asked softly—and Percival almost jumped right as he heard the question.

Surprisingly though, he seemed to be startled rather than embarrassed, his face quickly lost color instead of flushing like Siegfried expected, his eyes widened as he looked at the other briefly before turning his head away again.

It was… worrying, to say at least.

“Percival…?”

“N-no, I…” the redhead mumbled out instantly; he ran a hand through his hair frantically and sighed. “There’s… there’s no way I could, there’s no way he’d see me that way, I—”

Siegfried frowned as he listened to his frantic explanations; judging from Percival’s reaction he was sure something had happened in regard to the feelings he had for Lancelot and he couldn’t help but suspect it was directly connected to the recent incidents between the two—it felt like too much to be a mere coincidence. 

He rubbed the younger man’s shoulder gently, clearly in an attempt to calm him down; he remained silent for a while longer and only when Percival seemed to have relaxed somewhat did he speak up again;

“Did you… try to confess when he got injured…?”

Percival tensed right as he heard the question, further solidifying the assumption that it was related to his and Lancelot’s peculiar behaviors as of late. Siegfried doubted he was going to answer, admittedly—but he did eventually, albeit after a long moment of hesitation.

“No, I…” he whispered, pausing only to take a deep breath before continuing. “I was convinced he did. But I must have mixed my memories up with his words in this all, there is no way he would…”

Siegfried didn’t bother holding back a chuckle. That made even more sense.

“It does seem a lot like something Lancelot would do, though,” he pointed out. “It would also explain why he’s been acting so odd in the past days, wouldn’t it?”

At first Percival didn’t really react, as if he needed a moment to process the words—eventually he blinked a few times as if confused, frowned for a few seconds and finally his eyes widened as if he reached some form of higher enlightenment. 

Needless to say, it was quite amusing to watch—all the more so because he really needed someone to spell it out for him. Siegfried decided not to comment on it, however.

“I think you should just talk to him properly,” he said instead, patting Percival’s shoulder one more time.

Meanwhile Vane, after handling whatever tasks he had to take on in Lancelot’s stead while the other was indisposed, holed himself up in the kitchen for most of the evening. He spent hours baking, cooking and otherwise preparing piles upon piles of sweets—he felt a little bad admittedly, that he was going to attempt bribing his best friend, but he was well aware Lancelot won’t just _talk_ without proper convincing.

And so, as the sun was setting, he headed back to the Captain’s room, armed with a tray full of his best friend’s favourite treats.

Lancelot perked up right as he heard the door open, but when he turned around to check who it was that came in, he suddenly felt his face losing all its colors.

Now, he was happy to see Vane obviously and he was happy he brought an entire mountain of homemade sweets—but he was well aware what the younger knight was most likely scheming.

“Vane, I told you, I'm—” he started, but his friend cut in.

“I can tell you're not fine, Lanchan,” he sighed, carefully placing the tray on the other's desk before turning back to remove a shaky pile of everything from the table so that they could actually use it.

“I've known you my entire life, I can see things like that, you know?”

Lancelot groaned, sinking into his chair. He knew, of course he knew, it didn’t happen too often that he managed to hide something from Vane, almost never—and yet it never stopped him from trying, it was just natural for him at this point to bottle things up and pretend everything was alright.

And this time especially, he wanted to forget anything ever happened so he could at least try to look Percival in the face again.

“Obviously I’m not gonna force you if you really don’t want to,” Vane continued as he moved a stack of clothes from the sofa to make it accessible as well. “—but I would appreciate if you’d at least tell me what’s up in general.”

He placed all of the clothes neatly in the closet and sighed heavily, pausing for a brief moment.

“Or if you at least wouldn’t lie to me.”

Lancelot turned his head away and lowered his gaze, ashamed. In this moment he really couldn’t understand what was he thinking in the first place—he could trust Vane, especially on that matter, he knew about his feelings for years already and he never told a soul after all. 

He supposed it only showed how badly he wanted to pretend it never happened.

“I’m… so sorry Vane,” he said quietly, finally turning back to look at the other. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t,” the blond interrupted him, smiling as he also turned to face him again. “It’s fine, I’m not upset. I’m just worried about you.”

Lancelot couldn’t help but give him a resigned smile in response—it was always like this with Vane, he never was upset with him even when he had every right to be and it was moments like this that always reminded him how grateful he was to have him.

“So how about we just sit down and you stuff your face with sweets then tell me what’s wrong?” Vane asked, still grinning widely—and Lancelot could only laugh.

“It’s not like I can decline now, can I?” 

“Absolutely not.”

The older knight shook his head with a sigh but he didn’t protest any further—he was well aware already that it was pointless when his best friend had his mind set so it was best to just give up to save the both of them a lot of trouble.

He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to share all the details but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to provide at least a vague explanation. He didn’t want to worry Vane further, after all.

As he got up to move over to the sofa, the other man picked up the tray with sweets and placed it on the table finally; taking a seat next to him Vane smiled widely and gave his shoulder a soft pat.

“Come on Lanchan, talk to me,” he said. “Tell me what’s bothering you, it’s about Percy isn’t it?”

Lancelot hesitated briefly but finally he let out a resigned sigh.

“I mean.. yeah,” he said. “I… said something… stupid. And I think it made him mad.”

For a split second Vane looked at him like he just grew a second head. 

“I really don't think he's mad, you know…” he murmured. “It's not like you never annoyed him before but he never acted like this.”

Lancelot frowned and bit his lip; for a while he remained quiet, just nipping on one of the cookies, but eventually he sighed, turning his head away. 

“I've... never done anything like this either.”

He paused, still not looking at the other—he was slowly coming to realize that as much as he didn’t want to, he won’t be able to explain this without saying what exactly happened when Vane left the two of them alone back then. It was the only explanation that was needed in the first place, he was aware that if Vane knew about that he’d understand why—

“I think he hates me now.”

He didn’t realize he said it out loud and he didn’t see the confused look Vane gave him when he did, too occupied with his internal fight over whether he should just tell him or if he should let the shame get the best of him.

(He would probably tell him eventually, his pride wouldn’t let him lose to embarrassment.)

“I don’t think he could just hate you…” Vane murmured, only now making Lancelot register that he spoke his thoughts aloud; he turned to finally face the blond again and was quickly met with his worried gaze.

“Just what did you say that makes you think that…?”

Lancelot tried not to look away again, he really did—but it was still stronger than him, and soon enough his eyes wandered off to the side; he didn’t hesitate for much longer though, he knew he could trust Vane after all and he was aware it would make things much easier to explain.

It was really only his stubbornness that was stopping him anyway.

“I… I was really sure I wouldn’t make it back then,” he whispered finally, his voice barely audible. He made a short pause to take a deep breath before he continued, “I confessed what I feel for him. Because I didn’t want to just… die without telling him.”

Vane didn’t say anything, he simply stared agape at the man beside him—obviously he couldn’t even begin to imagine what could it be that could possibly make Percival grow to hate Lancelot out of sudden or at least make Lancelot assume he did… but this was the last thing he expected. 

As he wasn’t looking at him, Lancelot couldn’t see his best friend’s reaction to his words and the lack of response he took as an invitation to continue his explanation—so he decided to just let it all out.

“He’s been… so cold ever since, he barely talks to me now… he won’t even look at me! Even when you dragged him here after I woke up, he acted like he was trying to pretend it never happened—and he never came to see me before that, right?”

“Lanchan…”

“He was so weirdly careful with me too! I can’t imagine how pathetic he must think I am if he’d go as far as to take pity on me over this…”

“Lanchan…!”

“I knew there was no way he could feel like his about me, I was trying not to get my hopes up, he probably doesn’t even like men that way anyway—”

“ _Lancelot!_ ”

Only hearing his full name called out by the other man make Lancelot stop, he jumped in place too, almost startled—even though he kept asking, it was still rare enough that Vane would use his full name for it to catch him off guard. As he turned back to face him, he quickly found himself even more confused with how… bewildered Vane looked.

“If Percy is not into men then I’m the princess of Dalmore,” the blond huffed, clearly frustrated. “I mean, come on, not even his sword is straight.”

Lancelot barely managed to hold back a laugh.

“You know that doesn’t actually—”

“—prove anything, I know, I know.” Vane sighed heavily, letting himself sink into the sofa as he tousled his hair in exasperation. “I mean it though, I’m pretty sure he does like men. And I’m absolutely sure he doesn’t hate you.”

“But—” Lancelot tried to protest but Vane only shook his head, interrupting him almost immediately.

“He wouldn’t wait for you to regain consciousness if he did, would he?” he pointed out, smiling softly. “He would just leave right away if that was the case.”

Lancelot blinked once, twice—and he frowned slightly. Vane did make a good point here, Percival was this kind of man after all—but it still didn’t convince him entirely, it was just a part of what brought forth his conclusion. 

Before he could even open his mouth to bring it up however, Vane continued.

“I don’t think he was taking pity on you either. Remember when we got you out of the dungeon? He didn’t go easy on you for a second, he even wanted to fight you.”

Lancelot swallowed thickly. He was right. He was right and he hated that it took Vane saying it out loud for him to realize that Percival would never… take pity on someone he held in high regards. Why did he ever think otherwise? 

But if that wasn’t the case then…

“So are you telling me he was…” 

“He was just worried about you, I’m sure,” Vane replied before he could even really ask—he was grateful, really, he wasn’t sure if he could finish the sentence with how shaken he was.

“He seemed really scared when you blacked out there and… I understand why now.” The blond paused to give the fellow knight a playful nudge. “I’d be scared too if Gran pulled something like this.”

Lancelot’s frown deepened. The more Vane talked, the less sense his own thoughts made—he couldn’t help but wonder now, why would his mind twist everything like this? Was he just… this desperate for an excuse to pretend he never said a thing? Was he… scared of the potential response?

He never thought he could be such a coward.

There was still one more issue left, though…

“But he was… ignoring me,” he murmured, crossing his arms over his chest and gripping at his upper arms. “He’s _still_ ignoring me, and he acted like he didn’t remember I said anything too…”

Vane sighed softly, but soon enough he smiled warmly, reaching out to rub Lancelot’s shoulder reassuringly.

“You know that Percy is… kind of awkward sometimes,” he said. “He probably just needed time to sort his thoughts out. And maybe he was waiting for you to bring it up since he couldn’t be sure if you remembered…”

That was all he needed to ultimately convince Lancelot that he was most likely in the wrong and he could only sigh now, his arms lowering as he shifted so he could lean on Vane—and the blond responded immediately, pulling him into his arms and tucking his head under his chin.

“I’m so stupid,” Lancelot mumbled as he buried his face in his best friend’s chest.

“You are,” Vane agreed, holding back a chuckle.

“I need to talk to him.”

“You do.”

It could wait until the morning, they decided eventually, so that Lancelot could think over what he wanted to say and prepare for the entire talk mentally—and with that, having the weight of his doubts taken off his mind, Lancelot could finally focus on the pile of treats that Vane brought originally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you go! This chapter might be my personal favourite honestly, there's just too many iconic lines
> 
> I wish I could say the last chapter will be a posted a week from now, but alas I can't as it's not finished yet  
> I will still try my best but no promises for now


End file.
